


like everything is heading for catastrophe

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Knight Jon Snow, R Plus L Equals J, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: At the age of ten, Jon Snow was sent to the Vale to start squiring for the famed Knight of Runestone. Shortly after his return to Winterfell eight years later, he's faced with truths and hardships that somehow continuously ties his path with Sansa's---Ghost lets out a yawn before jumping off Jon's chest and he sat up to watch curiously as the pup sleepily made its way out of his reach, only stopping when he found his way blocked by Sansa’s crossed legs. To Jon's surprise, he leapt into her lap and settled comfortably next to his grey-furred littermate.Sansa giggled in amusement, petting Ghost’s head fondly. "He likes her."___Title From: Loving You - Seafret
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 44
Kudos: 172





	1. Jon I - Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to post this for sooooooooo long. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Jon breathed in the fresh air as he, along with his company of Vale Knights, carefully threaded through the snow-covered landscape of the North. 

They’re still half a day’s ride from Winterfell, his family's ancestral castle still hidden in the distance, yet he could feel his bones vibrating with excitement at every step that brings him closer.

“How are you feeling, lad?”

Jon turned to his side and found Ser Eyron Stone grinning knowingly at him. The man was one of Bronze Yohn's most loyal men; he'd been among the Knights who welcomed Jon upon his first arrival at Runestone all those years ago. He knew Jon well, had seen him grow from the greenboy he was to the young man he has become.

"I'm nervous, Ser," he admitted in a quiet tone, careful not to be overheard by the rest of their group. "I haven't seen my family in years. I’m afraid things might be too different now."

Jon was only a boy of ten when Lord Stark sent him East to squire for Bronze Yohn Royce. He could scarcely believe it when his Lord Uncle informed him that a famed Knight such as Lord Royce has agreed to take him on and he’d been too grateful to realize that it would mean he’d be apart from his family from then on. Living in Runestone was something to get used to at first, to be sure, but letters from his cousins and Lord Uncle had tempered down his sadness. 

"I'm sure they've missed you just as much,” Ser Eyron assured him, reaching out to pat him on the back.

 _I really hope so_ , he prayed to the gods quietly.

It’s a little while longer before the castle finally came into view; it was as magnificent as he remembered, the gray tones of the buildings a shadow underneath the bright blue sky. The sight of it makes his eyes well up with tears of joy, bringing with it memories of his youth -- running around in the Godswood with his cousins, dipping in the Hotsprings even on snow days, play-fighting with Robb in the training yard, and chasing after the younger Starks all around the castle.

"It's a bit dreary-looking, isn't it?" Ser Waymar’s voice cuts through his recollection.

He found himself frowning at the Knight, tempted to speak in defense of his childhood home. He kept his words to himself, though. deciding that the argument that would result in his response would not be worth it. 

It's a few more hours before they finally reached Winter Town and Jon had become too agitated with the prospect of reuniting with his family.that he doesn’t immediately catch the words being whispered among the gathered crowd on the busy street. When he does finally notice, he heard the words “bastard” and ‘dishonor’ along with the name ‘Brandon Stark’ uttered in hushed tones. The attention made his neck prickle uncomfortably, though none of it was new to him. In fact, there was another name he’s heard being uttered in the Southern parts of Westeros in regards to his parentage that he’s never heard in the North.

_Ashara Dayne._

The name was unfamiliar until he arrived in the Vale and maidservants of the Royce castle willingly shared with him tales of the Tourney at Harrenhal that would claim him to be borne of dishonor committed by his father, Brandon Stark, and the Lady Ashara Dayne. Jon couldn’t speak for its truth; all he was ever told was that after Robert's Rebellion, his uncle, Eddard Stark, came back to Winterfell carrying his dead brother's bastard son.

His thoughts were once more cut off when they finally made their way inside the castle through the East Gate. He rode behind his Lord with Ser Eyron and the other Vale knights and so he was among the last to enter. He took a deep breath when he caught sight of the Lord and Lady Stark standing in the courtyard to welcome the new arrivals, their children standing right beside them.

He could scarcely believe it when he was told he'd be accompanying Bronze Yohn and his son to the Wall, much less when he was informed that they were making a stop at Winterfell to pay their respects to the Warden of the North and his family. 

Yet there they all stood in front of Jon, more tangible than any imagination he might have conjured up.

Bronze Yohn was the first off his horse, followed by Ser Waymar and the other knights. Jon was slow in his movement, still too overwhelmed by the reality of being back home to process the events properly. How often had he dreamed of this very thing; to be back in Winterfell and possibly stay there despite knowing it’s not where he belonged. 

He watched quietly while attending to his horse as Bronze Yohn and Lord Stark greeted each other like old friends, laughing as they embraced. They exchanged a few words before Bronze Yohn was introduced to the rest of the Starks and then for the Knight to introduce his son. 

To his surprise, Bronze Yohn called for him soon after. "Jon. Come here and greet your family."

It took Ser Eyron pushing him forward for him to move, sauntering off to the expectant crowd nervously. He stood straight as he faced them, unsure of how to act. He stopped walking only when he was right in front of his Lord Uncle to bow in respect. 

"My Lord,” he greeted quietly, fearing that to say more would reveal just how anxious he has been. He then turned to Lady Stark, who was holding a babe in her arms that could only be Rickon. "My Lady."

Once he looked up, he found his uncle smiling at him. The smile was so rare in his memory that it felt like the first time he's seeing it and he's stuck on the thought as he's being pulled into his uncle's embrace. 

He swallowed back a sob, overcome with emotions he couldn't hope to explain. "Uncle," he whispered, tightening his embrace.

“Welcome home, Jon,” his Lord Uncle told him fondly as they pulled away. “You left here as a boy and came back a man grown.”

He ducked his head on a smile and was about to respond when his little cousin, Arya, leaped right into his arms for a hug. He laughed in surprise, stumbling at the impact. She was merely six when he saw her last, yet even older she's still the Arya he remembered. The realization planted a grin on his face as he set her back down. He ruffled her hair fondly before turning to Robb, the oldest of the Stark children and the one Jon knew best.

"It's been too long, Snow," Robb greeted with a huge grin, offering his forearm.

"Aye. It has, Stark," he agreed with his own small smile as he accepted Robb’s arm in greeting. 

They exchanged a few more words before he turned to the girl next to his cousin. He instantly recognized her as Sansa, though he knew not how to act. He was only ten when he left, Sansa was eight, but even then they were already too different to know how to regard each other. He will admit though, that even then he’d thought she was radiant and now found her even more so.

"My Lady," he murmured, bowing politely.

He caught her eye flicker between him and something behind him but she responded with a polite courtesy and a warm welcome greeting. He gave her one last nod before finding Bran at the last of the line, looking at him curiously. He could tell that, just like Rickon, he doesn't remember Jon. He was just three years old when Jon left. He didn't yet speak nor walk, though Jon could remember how well he could climb whatever surface he found.

They're led into the Great Hall soon after, where Lady Stark has prepared a small feast for their arrival. It's just as Jon remembered celebrations in Winterfell. So informal yet so warm and full of genuine camaraderie.

As the honored guest, Bronze Yohn and Ser Waymar sat in the dais with the Lord and Lady of the Keep while the rest was free to sit where they pleased. Jon found himself tucked between Robb and Arya, sharing the table with all his cousins and some of the other children who lived within the castle. There's Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole next to Sansa opposite him, and Theon Greyjoy next to Robb. To his left, both Arya and Bran were firing off with millions of questions about knighthood and tourneys and what it's like to live in the South.

"Seven hells," Robb cut in with a laugh, trying to help Jon to subdue the two wild pups. "Let the man breathe, both of you. Jon's only just arrived, you’ll have plenty of time to bombard him with your questions."

They stop at that, though only for a moment before more questions popped into their minds. Jon couldn’t help but smile as he tried to answer as best he could. He didn’t mind it, truly. In truth, he was happy to respond to whatever queries they may have if it meant he got to stay for much longer.

“You’re joining us on the hunt tomorrow?” Robb asked much later once he found an opening.

Jon tore his gaze away from the girls sitting opposite him, all of whom were giggling and whispering to each other as they snuck glances at something behind him. Jon didn’t have to look to know they were probably gushing about the Knights he came with, some of whom were young and admittedly comely.

He cleared his throat, turning to Robb as he set down his cup of wine. “Aye. I am.”

“Can you ask Father to let me come with you to the hunt?” Arya cut into the conversation suddenly, looking between Jon and Robb expectantly. “Robb, if you asked to take me along I’m sure -”

Robb was already shaking his head. “Father and Mother already said no, Arya. You know they won’t permit it even if you ask a second time.”

“Why? Because I’m a girl?” She asked with a scoff, glaring at his older brother indignantly.

Robb stifled a snort at her expression. “No, because we’re already taking Bran. Hunting can be dangerous and I can’t watch over the pair of you.”

“Bran can’t even aim an arrow to save his life, nor swing a sword. It's better to take me instead,” Arya reasoned. “And Jon would be there. He can watch me.”

“He’d be assisting Lord Yohn, as is his duty,” Robb pointed out, not incorrectly. “We’ll take you next time.”

“But I want to go tomorrow,” she insisted, turning to Jon now with a pleading look. "Please, Jon? I want to go while you’re here. It won’t be as fun after you leave."

He made a face. “I'm sorry, Arya. I’d take you if I could but it’s your Lord Father you’d have to ask if you really want to come along.” 

Her face fell even more at that, arms crossed in indignation, and she remained in a sullen mood for the remainder of the evening, even cursing under her breath when the Septa came to lead her back to her chamber. 

There's truly not a lot Jon could have done to help her but he knew how disappointing it could be to be left out. Often, when she wrote to him, Arya would complain about how unfair the world was to girls. She's told him plenty that she wanted to learn how to fight, just as her brothers are learning, and believes she ought to be allowed regardless of her gender.

Jon was inclined to agree, though he's but a bastard boy and his opinions would not change the way of the world. He is, however, able to purchase a sword and gift it whomever he wanted. And so, as soon as he found out that he was to ride North, his first stop had been to see the smithy in Runestone to pay for one to be made. He was waiting to give his gift to Arya before he left but he resolved that tomorrow would be a good time as any. 

He woke early the next day, rising just at the crack of dawn. The entire Keep was still sound asleep as he made his way to the Godswood, with only the guards to greet him as he passed them on his way. 

Southerners worshipped the Seven, especially the Knights in Runestone, so it has been long since Jon has stood in front of a Weirwood tree to pray. The sight of it, its pale face and bloodied eyes staring right at him, somehow sent an odd sense of calmness within him. He stayed there until the sun began to rise, then he headed back to the Keep to help his Lord prepare for the day. After, he visited the stables to make sure that the horses have been fed and brushed, before breaking his fast in the Great Hall.

"Where's your sister?" He asked Bran next to him, noticing for the first time that Arya was the only one missing among the Starks.

"Arya refuses to leave her chamber unless she's allowed to join the hunting party,” the boy replied as he dipped his bread into some soup.

Jon’s got a bit of time before their hunting party was set to leave so he finished his meal quickly to fetch his gift for Arya in his chambers. There’s silence from her room when he got there and he waited a couple of seconds before knocking. As expected, the effort went unanswered until he spoke to say it was him. There’s some shuffling inside before she finally opened the door. Arya looked at him sulkily.

He tried to stifle a smile. “Did you ask your father again?”

She nodded with a scowl. “Mother still wouldn’t allow it. She says I have sewing lessons with the Septa. I don’t even like to sew.”

“Would it lift your mood if I told you I had a gift for you?”

Her eyes alighted. “Do you?”

She's trying hard to hide her sudden excitement but Jon only grinned as he brought forth the item he was hiding behind his back. She gasped when he unveiled it to reveal a slim and pointy sword that should match her very well. It’s small and light, perfect for her size. 

“I had the blacksmith at Runestone make it,” he informed her, smiling at the bright gleam in her eyes.

“It’s mine?” She asked on a whisper as she reached out to take it.

“Aye. Just as long as you make sure your mother and father don't find out.” She grinned mischievously, swinging it a few times to test it out. “Careful, now. Try not to hurt yourself.”

“Will you teach me while you're here?” She turned to him hopefully and he tried not to frown.

“I won’t be able to. We’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. Try and ask Robb, I'm sure he won't mind.” He swatted down to meet her eyes. “I'll tell you the first lesson, though," he offered with a grin, ruffling her hair. "Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”  
  
  
  


Jon has only gone hunting in the Wolfswood once before but that was all the way to the other end of the forest when he accompanied Lord Stark and some of his Bannermen during a visit to Deepwood Motte. He was too young to remember the details but he’s gone to many hunts with the Knights of the Vale since to know what’s expected of him.

“Watch out,” Ser Eyron suddenly shouted to alert the group as a boar suddenly came running towards them from nowhere. It speeded past them, startling Bran's pony as the other men turned to give chase to the wild animal. He's about to follow suit when he realized that Bran still hasn't calmed his pony down.

"Are you alright, Bran?" He called out as he jumped off his horse.

He walked over to the pony slowly, trying not to spook it further. It takes a few minutes before he managed to calm the animal and only then does he realize that Bran’s attention has turned elsewhere. His gaze was locked in the distance, entranced by something, and Jon turned to follow his line of sight to figure out what it was that caught his little cousin’s attention.

Two animals lay dead on the grass, a stag and a direwolf, with direwolf pups milling about the latter. 

"There hasn't been a direwolf sighting this side of the wall in years," Robb spoke suddenly, coming back into the clearing on his horse.

Jon didn’t know how to respond and instead moved to inspect the situation further. He heard his cousins jump off their respective horses to do the same. Ignoring the stench of blood and rotting meat, he knelt down to reach for one of the pups. He grabbed hold of the smallest among the litter, with its light gray fur and yellow eyes.

“They’re lucky to have survived the boar,” Robb commented idly, picking up two of the other pups to hand the other to Bran.

The sound of hooves alerted them of the return of their companions. He stood up, still holding onto the pup before facing the rest of the men.

"Ser Waymar caught the boar," Theon informed them with a huge grin, seemingly unaware of the dead animals in the clearing. "You should have seen how he did it. It was incredible. Speared the beast right through the head on his first aim."

Jon ignored this and glanced at his Lord Uncle who has noticed the dire scene behind them, his expression grim. 

"Father, look what we found," Bran spoke up, raising the pup he was holding to show the Lord. "They’re direwolves. Please, can we keep it?"

"Keep it, Little Lord?" Ser Rodrick replied in alarm. "Feral creatures, those are. They're no pets for Lordlings to keep."

Unperturbed by this, Bran looked at his father insistently. "Please, father? I promise we’ll take care of it."

“It's a sign, Lord Stark,” Jon spoke up suddenly, even to his own surprise. He glanced at his Bran’s hopeful expression and turned to the pup he was holding. For some reason, he felt compelled to take up his cousin’s cause. He swallowed hard and gestured at the pups to try and explain. "The Direwolf is the symbol of your house, My Lord. There are five pups, just as there are five Stark children. They're meant to have them."

The Lord looked torn, his gaze shifting between the Direwolves, the death in front of him, and his nephew, before finally letting out a sigh. "Very well," he agreed and then proceeded to list down his conditions, making it clear that raising the pups would be his children's duty alone.

Robb and Bran both happily agreed and started picking up the rest of the pups. Jon, meanwhile, walked back to his horse with the lone she-wolf he had in tow. He'd meant what he said about the pups being meant for his cousins but he couldn't help but feel a slight tinge of envy. There's little else in this world that he wanted aside from being a Stark himself, though he knew it was an impossibility.

His cousins are returning to their horses when he heard it. The sound was soft, barely audible, but he knew it could only be coming from the --

The wolf? But no, it's dead and the sound he heard was similar to the cries of the pups. He counted the ones they've retrieved. Five. They've gotten all of them. But then...

Just as he's decided that he must've imagined the sound, he heard it again. He walked toward the clearing once more and searched for the source, praying to the Old Gods that this wasn't just wishful thinking. After a moment, he finally found another small pup hidden behind its mother's corpse. Jon picked it up, its fur pale white and its eyes blood-red.

“What’s that you got there, Snow?” Theon shouted after him from atop his brown mare.

He doesn't bother answering and merely held up the white pup against his chest next to the other one.

"Six of them for six of us," Bran whispered when he got close, correcting Jon’s former assessment. He blinked strangely at him. "What does it mean, Jon?"

"I don't know," he admitted before trying to get up on his horse, unable to shake the feeling that it meant something ominous.

He turned to look back at the clearing once more as they rode out, remembering the look on his Uncle's face at the sight. He wondered what the Lord must've thought as he looked upon the dead Direwolf with the Stag's horn embedded into its chest, and the stag in question lying dead just meters from it.

 _Nothing good_ , Jon decided as a chill ran down his spine.

They arrived back in the castle with six pups and a dead boar in tow; the girls were pleased with the pups, though it irked him that Sansa kept praising Ser Waymar and saying he was 'so very gallant' for killing the wild beast. He tried to hide his scowl. Of all of Bronze Yohn's children, it's the youngest son he liked the least, and his Lady Cousin’s praise of the man vexed him for some reason. It's not like the deed merited such a response; anyone could've taken the boar down. Jon might've been able to do so himself, had he not been so distracted by the pups.

The next day, he found himself back in the Godswood with his cousins. They all thought giving the pups somewhere peaceful to run around would be a good idea. Jon was lying down on the bed of grass with his small white pup sleeping on his chest, content to just watch his cousins play around and remember as much of it as he could. He'd be leaving soon and they'll most likely be all grown up the next time they gather like this; this could be the last time they’re all so young and unbothered by troubles that seem to plague the old.

"Shaggy, wait for me," Rickon shouted suddenly, rising from the grass to chase after his pup. Where Jon's is all white, Rickon's pup has thick black fur and deep green eyes.

Robb snorted when he heard the pup's name again. He had trouble trying not to laugh when he heard the full name the first time, with Rickon proclaiming his pup a 'Shaggydog of Winterfell.' Jon doesn't think Robb had any cause to laugh, it's not like he named his pup any better. 

"Grey Wind," he’d said proudly just moments ago. "Because he's of the color and runs quick as the wind."

"I'm calling mine Nymeria," Arya announced just then, finally settling on a name. She turned to Jon. "What about yours?"

Jon reached for the pup on his chest as it began to wake and ruffled its fur. "Ghost," he declared, thinking the pup was akin to one.

Ghost lets out a yawn before jumping off Jon's chest and he sat up to watch curiously as the pup sleepily made its way out of his reach, only stopping when he found his way blocked by Sansa’s crossed legs. To Jon's surprise, he leapt into her lap and settled comfortably next to his grey-furred littermate.

Sansa giggled in amusement, petting Ghost’s head. "He likes her."

Hers was the same pup Jon had carried back to Winterfell; his pup must've taken a liking to the other during their journey back to the castle. Sansa claimed her upon their arrival and called her Lady. He thought the name fit very well. Lady was small and pretty, very much like her master.

They're called back to the Keep by Theon a couple hours later with an instruction from Lady Stark to remind them to prepare for the night's event.

Tonight, there would be a small celebration in honor of Bronze Yohn's visit. They're all expected to dress up and partake in the merriment. According to Theon, Lord Stark had even called for a bard from Winter Town.

He headed back to his room with Ghost trailing behind him to prepare himself as well as he could, though he didn't exactly bring clothes that would fit for the night. His belongings were mostly old and chosen for the comfort of travel. He sighed and settled with the least horrible of them before making his way to the Great Hall. 

He felt himself grinning as the sound of laughter surrounded him like a warm embrace. Home, his heart whispers in content. As soon as he arrived, he realized that his worry over his attire had been for naught. Northern gatherings were much simpler compared to the Southern ones he often attended over the years and not one person takes a second glance at what he's put on. 

He greeted as many people as he recognized before settling at the table with his cousins as he had the other nights. The dancing has already begun, so each from their table save Jon would leave during different songs to partake in the dancing. Currently, Robb was dancing with his mother and Sansa was dancing with Bronze Yohn.

When Robb sat next to him after his dance with his mother, he gave Jon a grave look. “Guess what arrived for Father today?”

Jon frowned, unsure of how he’s expected to reply. “What is it? Is it bad?”

Robb leaned in closer, intent on not being overheard. “It was a letter from King’s Landing. The Hand of the King has died and King Robert means to visit Winterfell. Mother thinks it’s to appoint Father as the new Hand.” He paused, perhaps catching onto Jon’s continued confusion. “Do you remember what we saw in the Wolfswood? I can’t help but feel as if it’s the gods sending us a warning.”

Jon finally understood what his cousin was trying to get at and remembered that dreary feeling he got when he saw those dead animals in the woods. Still, it was his last day in Winterfell, he refused to let it end in a somber note.

“It might not mean anything,” he said, though he didn’t believe the words himself. “We’re probably just overthinking it.”

Robb nodded, just as unconvinced. “Mayhaps.”

He patted Jon on the shoulder before standing to ask Beth Cassel for a dance. Jon remained in his seat, trying to shake off Robb’s news to no avail. He found his attention fleeting back to Sansa once more as she’s led back into her seat by another Knight.

He caught her glance sideways at the next table once more, as Jon had often seen her do throughout the night, and he knew whose attention she was hoping to catch. He turned to the Knights on the next table and glanced at Ser Waymar. He was too content conversing with his fellow Knights to notice his admirer. He couldn't help but frown as he turned to Sansa’s crestfallen face once more. Surely, she knew that Ser Waymar was heading to the Wall and would be forsaking the company of women shortly. Any sort of fondness for the man would only result in heartache. Yet she kept looking more and more dispirited as more hours passed without the Knight taking notice of her.

Unable to watch any longer, Jon took a deep breath and walked over to her. 

"Would you like to dance, My Lady?" 

He wanted to swallow back the words as soon as they're out, sure that he would only embarrass himself. But the smile that adorned her lips at his request was enough to erase any such thoughts.

"Truly, Jon? You want to dance?" She asked, as if unable to believe it.

His dislike for dancing was not news to anyone, so he supposed he could understand her surprise. He did remember dancing with her once before, though she probably didn’t remember. He would have been nine or so and her two years younger than him.

"Aye." He held out his hand. "If you would have me?"

"Of course."

He led her to the dance floor, swallowing nervously as his hand found her hip and hers his shoulder. The bard was playing a familiar song; slow and romantic. It's a song that Knights often danced with their Lady Loves back in Runestone. The thought made Jon feel a bit awkward, hoping Sansa was unaware of the fact.

"You... uh..." he cleared his throat, trying to avoid her gaze.. "You look lovely, My Lady."

Her cheeks dimpled prettily with a smile. "Thank you, Jon. You look lovely as well."

His brows curved in confusion, unsure how to take the compliment. Apparently, his confusion was amusing enough to make her laugh.

"I only meant that you look handsome," she explained teasingly. "Has no one told you this before?"

He ducked his head in slight embarrassment. Compliments didn’t often come his way, much less ones about his looks. “I'm afraid people only look at my face long enough to decide where to land a punch."

This made her frown. "You get into a lot of fights in the Vale?"

The look of concern that crossed her face made him shake his head immediately. "No. Just during training, My La - "

"Sansa. Just call me Sansa, Jon," she told him with an amused smile.. "You don't have to call me My Lady every time, you know."

"Right." He said with a nod, feeling his neck flush as they swayed about. "Sansa."

Much as he wanted to keep their conversation going, he was, as usual, at a loss for words. They danced the remainder of the song in silence and he returned her directly to his seat after..He’s tempted to ask for another, for some reason, but he resolved to just take the one he got.

He bid his cousins goodnight and goodbye at the end of the night, knowing he might not be able to do so in the morning since Bronze Yohn planned to leave before dawn in the hopes of reaching the wall much sooner.

It honestly felt odd to Jon to be heading to the Wall; he remembered a time when he’d wanted to join the Watch himself so he may find a place for himself in this unkind world, jjust as Ser Waymar means to do. 

He remembered so clearly, asking his Lord Uncle to allow him to join. He was only ten and his uncle looked extremely troubled by the request before he was refused. Then, only a fortnight later, he was called into his uncle’s solar and was told that he was to be sent to the Vale to squire for Bronze Yohn in Runestone.

He’s grown so much since then, and learned so much. He couldn’t even imagine what kind of life he would have led in the Watch. He supposed he would see it for himself now during their short visit to the wall.


	2. Jon II - Wolf Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> I just realized I failed to tag tag the major character death warning and wanted to clarify that the fic will follow some of the canon deaths/events. To add, while I do have a general idea of where I want this story to go, it's still in development and things may still change so please keep track of the tags.
> 
> Anyway, thank you soooo much for reading! I hope you guys enjoy this one!

Jon stood still atop the Wall, unable to tear his gaze away from the vast snow-covered land. He's been to many places, visited many castles but seeing the rest of the known world from where he was standing was, by far, the best sight he's ever laid his eyes on.

"I'm set to leave early next morning," his uncle spoke up, disrupting the silence. "I'm off to ride to Winterfell in time for King Robert's arrival.".

Jon turned to him in surprise; he wasn't expecting the news. He thought he'd have a few more days with his uncle before he left Castle Black with the Vale Knights. "I'll be gone by the time you get back."

"Aye. You will be."

Jon looked down, thoughtful. For days now, he'd been putting off asking his Uncle Benjen a question that has been haunting him for a while. He hadn't been able to figure out whether he wanted it answered or not.

Robbed of more time to consider it, he swallowed hard and turned to his uncle once more. "Uncle Benjen… What do you know of my mother?"

Benjen looked at him intently, searching his face for something. The question had obviously caught him off-guard but Jon didn't let that deter him from getting an answer.

"Nothing," Benjen admitted after a short bout of silence. "I know nothing of it, you know this. I'm sorry, Jon."

Jon tried not to let his face fall; he was already expecting the response, anyway.. "In the South, I heard rumors… rumors about me. About my mother." He took a deep breath. "I'd heard some people say Lord Brandon was seen with Lady Ashara Dayne at the Tourney of Harrenhal. That she might… that she could be my mother."

"Do you think it could be true?" He asked, tone quiet. 

There were other versions of the whispers, too. There was one that said it was Eddard Stark who was smitten with the Highborn Lady of Starfall, the one who was set to be betrothed to her had his older brother not died. However, it was unthinkable for Jon to even consider that his Uncle would ever dishonor himself by fathering a bastard and lying about it.

"I can't say for certain, Jon. I was at that tourney but…" he shook his head slightly. "I was young and didn't have any care for court. I spend most of my time looking for trouble with…  _ Lyanna _ ."

Jon heard the sorrow in his Uncle's voice; Lyanna Stark's name was not one he often heard uttered, even in Winterfell, and the rare times his Uncles would speak of her, he could always hear the melancholy in their voices.

Benjen reached for Jon's shoulders. "I know you want these questions answered. I wish I could help but I'm afraid that the people who can answer you are long gone. It's best if you try to move on from it."

He nodded, though he didn't know if he could do as his uncle advised. Sometimes he thought he remembered his mother; her kind eyes, her soft smile. He just wanted something of hers that he could hold onto, no matter how little there was of it to be found.

The following morning, Jon was afforded a quick goodbye with his Uncle before he left for Winterfell. Their stay at the Night's Watch lasted for five more days after that; he spent most of it training with the Night's Watch recruits while the Lord Commander of the Watch, Jeor Mormont, tried to strike an agreement with his Lord to provide more recruits for the Brotherhood 

Time seemed to pass too quickly, still, despite the fact that it has been more than three moon’s turn since they began their journey all the way to the North. 

Alas, their travels had to come to an end at some point and it took him some effort to get back to his old routine once they arrived back in Runestone. He still missed Winterfell constantly, his family even more so, but there was some comfort in having Ghost with him. The pup has grown significantly since he’d first found him in the Wolfswood, now nearly reaching his hip in height. 

He’s quiet as ever and frightening to most of the Valemen who’d crossed his paths. Lord Royce’s daughter, Lady Ysilla, the lady of the keep, didn’t mind Ghost too much and would have allowed him to roam the castle freely during the day were it not for the others who couldn’t go about their business with the direwolf out and about. 

As a form of compromise, Ghost spent most of his time restlessly in the kennels until Jon fetched him for the night. He's also allowed to hunt for food and run around outside the castle every few days and Jon had, in fact, released him just the night before.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly at the thought. For whatever reason, he's had a restless sleep since Ghost's departure. He constantly dreamt as if he was running around the rocky landscape of the East. 

He wouldn’t have thought much of these dreams if not for the fact that they didn't feel like dreams at all. It felt more like visions, as though he was actually there. He could feel the wind against his fur as he ran at lightning speed, he could smell the snow and other indescribable scents and… he could sense his pack close by. 

Of course, he knew not of what it even meant and it very much frustrated him.

"Oy, Snow!"

He heard his name called as he was about to enter the stables. He turned and found Tyrek coming to approach him, a parchment in hand. 

Maester Helliweg tasked me to give this to you " Tyrek informed him. "Where's your shadow?"

Jon set down the bucket of water he'd been holding and took the parchment, curious as he saw the Stark sigil on the wax.

"He's out hunting,". He answered distractedly as he opened the letter and found it in Robb's handwriting.

  
  


Cousin,

I hope your journey back to Runestone went without event and that this letter finds you well. I am writing to inform you of the King’s recent visit to Winterfell. 

As we’ve already guessed, King Robert asked my Lord Father to take up the position as the new Hand of the King. By the time you receive this letter, he will already be on the way South along with Bran, Sansa, and Arya. I suspect the three would stay in King’s Landing with Father in the foreseeable future and while I envy them this adventure, I will miss them terribly. 

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Robb Stark

Heir of Winterfell

  
  


Jon folded the letter and tucked it in his belt, trying to push away the thought of his dream.  _ He could sense his pack... _

"Is it about your uncle?" Tyrek asked curiously 

Tyrek was one of the young servants in Runestone, maybe just a year or two older than Bran. He’s a bastard boy from Wickenden and he came to Lord Yohn in search of work. It’s only been a year since he arrived and most of the other squires tend to stay away from him, talkative as he was.

"What do you know of my uncle?" He asked, retrieving the bucket of water before entering the stables.

Tyrek shrugged, jumping onto a haystack to sit as Jon started to care for his Lord's horse. "Everyone knows he's the new Hand," Tyrek pointed out. "I just got back from a trip to Gulltown with Ser Myle. Some traders are saying the King's Party was spotted near the Trident. I’ve never seen a King before, how do you think it’d be like?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met a King before, either,” Jon replied before realizing what Tyrek had just said. “Did you say the Trident?”

Jon calculated the distance in his mind and surmised that he'd be able to reach the Trident in a day of hard riding. For a short moment, he entertained the idea of doing so just to catch even a glimpse of his family.

That night his sleep was met with the same kind of dream as before, except it’s more vivid than the last. This time, he's sure that it wasn't just a dream.

He was running again, only this time he's not in the best condition. It's as if he'd been running for a while now and the effort had caused him most of his strength.

His body revolted at every step but he knew he couldn't stop; the smell of danger was thick in the air and it made him run even faster toward the stony mountains. 

When he turned to his side, he saw that he wasn't alone. The Gentle sister was running alongside him. He caught her eye for a moment and he was struck with the familiarity of her.

It was the loud banging on his chamber doors that interrupted his dream and T's voice was the first thing he registered as the boy screamed for him.

“Jon! Wake up. Fuck's sake, you have to attend to Ghost! Hurry!”

He stood up abruptly at the mention of his direwolf, quickly stumbling towards the door. “Ghost? Is he back? What Happened? Why - ”

“There’s no time to explain,” Tyrek told him urgently, pushing him towards the hallway. “The guards at the gate are refusing to let him in and I think he’s bleeding. At least from what I can see from the Battlement.”

He didn’t need to know more than that; he ran as quickly as he could, endless questions piling after another in his mind. The guards knew Ghost; the direwolf has been permitted to be let out to hunt and he’s done so a few times already since arriving in Runestone. It didn’t make sense that they’d refuse him entry now.

And he’s bleeding…?

Mayhaps he wandered too close to the mountains and was chased away by one of the mountain clans. 

His questions were only answered once he finally got out of the gate and was greeted not only by Ghost, his snout covered with blood, but by another direwolf as well. Its fur is light grey, eyes bright yellow. She’s grown since the last time Jon saw her but he would know her anywhere.

He knelt to the ground, reaching a hand out. “Come, girl. Do you remember who I am?”

Ghost nuzzled against his arm as the other direwolf regarded him warily. Very slowly, she finally moved towards him, butting her nuzzle against the palm of his hand. 

“Hello there, Lady,” he greeted softly, scratching her head gently. “You do remember me, huh? I remember you as well. How did you get here?” He turned to Ghost, tongue lolling as he watched the exchange. “Did this ugly oaf come and fetch you?”

She cried quietly, making Jon’s chest constrict. He could sense that something terrible had happened, though he had no way of knowing exactly what. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he assured as Ghost joined in trying to comfort her. “Nothing will harm you here, I promise.”

He turned to Ghost after a while to check if he’s wounded anywhere. As far as Jon could tell, it wasn’t his blood that marred his fur, which meant something terrible did indeed happen down at the Trident. He glanced up at the sky and sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods so they may keep the rest of his family safe. 

Bronze Yohn was surprised to find another direwolf outside his gates but he agreed to let Lady in once Jon had explained to him that it was one of the direwolves they found in the Wolfswood. He assumed the Knight allowed it only out of respect for Lord Stark, but Jon was beyond grateful nonetheless. 

“How do you think she got here?” Tyrek asked as Jon fed Ghost and Lady in the kennels. “Did they sense each other somehow?”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, recalling his dream. “Aye. I think it was Ghost who found her,” he answered. “I think she was in trouble and he sensed it. Somehow. And he decided to bring her here. To safety.”

“It’s fascinating,” Tyrek commented with a grin. “So how many of them are there? Will the others come here as well?”

“There’s six of them but I doubt the rest would follow them here. They’re too far away,” he answered, though it didn’t make much sense to him how he knew it for sure.


End file.
